


Bed Warmer

by Anonymous



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Bestiality, Kink Meme, Masturbation, Other, PWP, Tentacle Sex, bed stealing, unrequited Snake/Dagger, voyeuristic fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 12:15:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2228673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snake and his snakes warm Dagger's bed while he's gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bed Warmer

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this](http://kuroshitsuji-kink.dreamwidth.org/464.html?thread=720#cmt720) kink meme prompt:
> 
> _Snake is always surrounded by his snake posse so I can't stop thinking that even when he's fapping they're around to commentate or even help out. please?_

"I'll keep your bed warm for you," Emily had promised, and Emily never lied. Dagger's sheets were the same soft, worn cotton as Snake's own, but when he flicked out his tongue, the unfamiliar smells overwhelmed him. Human sweat, familiar from his many years with the circus, yet still alien. Blade oil. Aftershave. And semen. So much semen. Dagger's sheets were coated with it, the very air of his tent redolent with lust. Snake had been half hard since Emily made the suggestion to Dagger earlier that day, and the scent of the sheets was enough to plump his prick completely. His hand twitched on the sheet, hesitant. Goethe hissed in encouragement, tail tapping against the back of Snake's fingers to urge him on. 

"He is going to hate you," said Wordsworth, but he didn't sound disapproving. No, not at all. He flicked his tongue into Snake's ear, drawing a shiver. Lifting her head from Snake's stomach, Emily hissed out a laugh, her scales gleaming beautifully in the flickering light of the candle. 

"Worth it," said Goethe, as Snake trailed his hand over Emily's smooth back, trailing down, down, down until his palm slid off her scales and onto his own. His mouth opened soundlessly as his fingers curled around himself, and Oscar let out a pleased hum for him, the smooth weight of his body slithering tantalizingly up Snake's chest.

"He deserves it," said Donne, nuzzling fondly at Snake's jawline. "I don't like him."

None of the snakes liked Dagger, but Snake did. He couldn't help it. He liked the look of Dagger's hands, calloused from his throwing knives, but soft from the blade oil he lovingly rubbed over the steel. Snake had watched him, once, while he polished the knives, flicking out his tongue to catch the clove scent warming the cool mineral oil. Then he'd gone back to his own tent and imagined Dagger pouring that oil down Snake's stomach and over his shaft, letting it pool in the crack between his legs.

The oil scent was strong enough here that it was easy to imagine Dagger coating his hand with it as he sprawled here on these very sheets. Snake flicked out his tongue, tasting clove-scented oil and old semen. He wondered if the cloves burned Dagger's prick, if the slight pain made it even better. His hand quickened at the thought, and he let his mouth fall open in a soundless laugh. Dagger had tossed his head back, gasping, on this very pillow, his hand moving quick and impatient between his legs. He'd been thinking of Beast, Snake knew. Probably Dagger imagined working open the laces of her top until her breasts spilled out into his hands, imagined sucking her nipples, imagined trailing his hand up the inside of her cool, porcelain thigh until he found the warm flesh above. And Snake could watch them, hide in the shadows below the bed, work his own cock to the rhythm of their grunts, their breathless cries. 

"Slower," Wilde commanded, and Snake forced his hand to a more languid pace, squirming with the decadence of the stolen bed, the sinuous movements of the snakes. Dan and Keats were slithering their way up his thighs, urging them wider, while Bronte danced over his balls in a slow, torturous tease. He stroked her back with his free hand, shivering as she slid her tail against the smooth bit of skin behind them.

Everybody wanted someone. Dagger wanted Beast, and Beast wanted Joker, though Goethe had seen her spread her legs for Black. And maybe the next time Dagger slipped into these sheets, he'd catch the faintest scent of Snake here, maybe even think about Snake touching himself. The thought made Snake writhe against the mattress, the nest of snakes urging him on. Dagger would be furious if he knew, but from the way he'd turned red at Emily's suggestion, maybe grudgingly intrigued as well. And really, why had he needed to throw such a fit at the idea? What was so bad about having a snake in your bed?

"Nothing," said Oscar, dragging the cold, flat surface of his tongue against Snake's nipple and making him shudder in pleasure. "Absolutely nothing."

"You like it," Webster laughed, and --oh!-- he was dragging the heavy weight of his body down Snake's abdomen, angular head nuzzling the base of his prick, briefly touching noses with Bronte. He flicked his tongue out between Snake's fingers just as Bronte curled around his balls, and Snake squirmed with delight. 

Something cool and hard brushed Snake's fingers, where they were stroking up and down Bronte's smooth scales. His eyes fluttered open, and he glanced down, saw that Wilde had found a bottle somewhere, was nudging it against him. Snake recognized it as the same bottle Dagger kept beside him while he polished his blades. He fumbled for it, tried in vain to twist the lid open one-handed before giving up the notion. No sooner had he relinquished his grip on his prick than Webster was coiling up it, the motion of his body slow and sinuous against the aching flesh. 

"Yes," Emily hissed, shifting with excitement against Snake's belly. "You know how he likes it." 

And he did. Oh he did. Snake bit his lip as Webster coiled tight around his prick and squeezed. They were both slick enough from the moisture leaking steadily from the tip that the steady squeeze and release of Webster's body felt like an arse, like a cunt. Snake was rocking up into it, as much as the heavy press of bodies would allow. It took him three tries to get the bottle open, he was so focused on the sensation.

He spilled some of the oil in his excitement. The warm, sharp scent of it against the sheets excited him further, and he reached down into the nest of snakes around his genitals, letting the gentle bumps of their heads guide him to the right spot. He was right -- it burned a little when he pressed a finger inside, but he liked it. Bronte curled around his wrist, flicking her tongue against the base of his thumb to scent the oil.

"Another," she said. "You can take it." 

Nodding frantically, Snake worked another finger inside, relishing the slow stretch and burn. Webster was still working his penis, while Emily and Oscar looped teasing figure eights over his chest and stomach. The very tip of Bronte's tail nudged between his fingers, and Snake hurriedly withdrew, allowing her to slip inside. 

Her tail was tapered at the tip, narrower even than his pinky finger. First, Snake felt only a tickle inside him. Then she slid in further, wider than two fingers, wider even than a cock. Her head was swaying from side to side in pleasure as his muscles squeezed around her, and Snake panted soundlessly, head thrown back against Dagger's pillow. 

"Perfect," Emily sighed, nipping affectionately at Snake's hipbone. 

At the same time, Wilde nuzzled his open palm. "What are you thinking about?" he asked. "Are you imaging him?"

Snake shook his head. He wasn't thinking of Dagger, not anymore. He wasn't thinking of anything but the nest of snakes around and in him, the sure drag of Bronte's tail against that spot that always drove him crazy, the lovely coil of Webster's body around his prick. 

"Good," Wilde said. "You're ours." And he struck suddenly, pressing his snout to the sensitive place beneath the head of Snake's prick, just as Bronte squirmed another inch inside of him. 

Snake's fingers clenched in Dagger's bedsheets as he arched up, mouth falling open in a soundless cry as his prick twitched and spurted. The bed was a rattling, vibrating nest of excitement as the snakes shuddered their pleasure. Still shuddering, Snake collapsed back against the mattress, limp and sated.

Fuck Dagger, he thought, turning his head to the side to nuzzle Wordsworth's smooth scales, even as the others curled up around and over him. Dagger may yearn for Beast, but he slept alone every night. But Snake? Snake was never alone.


End file.
